So, in between pumping, changing diapers and jiggling the crap out of my child, I've been contemplating motherhood and my new identity when I came to the following conclusion: motherhood is a lot like those beautiful newborn and family pictures we see. On the surface, everyone is happy and working in harmony. Everyone is well-dressed, showered and manicured to the nth degree. The baby looks effortlessly peaceful, even angelic. But if you are a newborn photographer or a parent who just had these pictures taken you know that is the farthest from the truth. You painstakingly picked every outfit, hurriedly made sure everyone was clean, dressed and presentable. You packed the diaper bag, pumped, breastfed or bottlefed, then tortured that poor baby by keeping him/her awake for hours until you got to the studio. Even though you have exhausted your poor offspring into submission, it takes HOURS to get a handful of photos. You have to calm the baby down, then put them in not-so-natural baby poses that are super cute until they wake up and have a hissy fit (not captured on camera). Those beautiful naked photos are also uber-cute until the baby shits all over the prop. Seriously, Wilson pooped and peed on everything that poor photographer put under him. This is motherhood. Mothers smile, say how much they love their baby (which is true), show cute pictures and coo about how wonderful their lives are now that it has been blessed with this bundle of joy. It's true - just like the pretty family pictures, that moment was real and captured on camera for proof. But what we don't talk about enough is the behind-the-scenes craziness that we experience on our journey of love and sacrifice. And it's full of tons of poop on every prop.
From very early on, we, as young women, are sold what I like to call - the 'mommy dream'. When I was little my only reference for what taking care of a baby was my knock-off cabbage patch doll, who I called little Wendy. Not a good reference, really. Wendy went to bed when I told her, she required no feedings of any kind and didn't cry when I played with my other toys. Oh how motherhood seemed like bliss then.
As a teenager, I was deathly afraid of getting pregnant, but not really out of recognition of how hard it might be. I didn't want to get pregnant because it wasn't time for me. I wanted to do lots of things and, really, 99.9% of the population should never procreate with their teenage partners anyway - because let's face it - we make crappy decisions about relationships until far into adulthood.
As a young adult, I had some friends that had children and the most I could get from them was the old "I love them, but..." where the "but" described the difficulty, but it ended with, but it's all worth it anyway. To me that sort of negated the "but" and I really never got it.
After graduate school, I had several friends that had children and watched some of them grow. They looked tired - exhausted even. But they too, said the whole "I love them, but..." phrase. Only my closest friends were honest enough to say how difficult their babies were. And I told myself the lie that every parent-to-be tell themselves in order to successfully procreate: it's ok because our child will be different.
So what is the behind-the-scenes poopery, as it were? It's a jumble of crazy emotions, experiences, new learning and existential pondering. It just so happens that you can have incredibly conflicting emotions AT THE SAME TIME. I absolutely adore Wilson. He makes me a better person every day. I love waking up to his smiles (even at 3 a.m.) and I miss him horribly if I am apart from him for more than a minute. BUT... at the same time, I am exhausted, barely taking care of myself, want to punch my partner in the face on a bi-weekly basis (and I'm sure he feels the same way), stressed, harried, second-guessing my worth as a mother, struggling to balance my newfound-nurterer role with the previous roles as wife, teacher, researcher, shaman and everything else my post-pregnant brain has forgotten that I used to be. In one second I look at Wilson and think, "You are the most beautiful being I have ever seen in my life." In the next moment I think, "What the hell was I thinking doing this? How am I supposed to balance all of these things??"
It's not just being a parent that is hard. It's being a mom, I believe, in our culture right now. As a new mom, you are not always surrounded by mother and sisters all waiting to help you with the baby (unless you are in an Italian family who moved across the street from your parents). Many of us don't have a lot of family close so the option of having tons of willing help isn't an option. Most of us work outside of the home and I still don't have a clue how that is supposed to balance out. It's also really hard for women with a professional career. We've spent so much time becoming equal in a male-driven market that being pregnant and raising a family puts you at a distinct disadvantage to your male peers - sometimes even discriminatory. There is no place in our professional portfolios to reflect on your role as a mother and how much time you spent rearing the next generation that will better our world. You have to meet the same requirements as any male, but have to do so with less time, energy and resources. Because let's face it, the cultural expectation is that we, as women, must do the majority of the child-rearing. Call it hormonal or historical, typically the primary parent role falls to women. I am lucky enough to have a husband that is thoughtful, involved and concerned about my well-being. Often he sacrifices all of his personal time to give me one break during the very long day. But, I will always be driven, internally and culturally, to be the primary caregiver.
But, as I sit here in my office, fresh from finishing work on a new publication, hearing Wilson cooing to my paid help in the living room, with a machine pumping breast milk out of me, I am keenly aware of how my new life is both terrifying, hysterical and beautiful. I'm clumsily navigating my new roles, afraid of not meeting expectations in one (or all) of them, laughing at the ridiculousness of who I have become (p.s. being a mother is way harder than getting a Ph.D. at Yale if you were wondering) and -- at the same time -- feeling love and happiness that I could have never imagined. Knowing that this little being is the best thing you ever did in your life and that you wouldn't change anything about this experience (except perhaps for getting more sleep...). I thought I couldn't possibly love any bigger than how much I love my partner, but Wilson blows that out of the park. I would gladly sacrifice any part of my life for him and his happiness and health have become the priority in my life over everything else.
Everything is as it should be and it will all work out. You've got this. My best advice is to keep your "to do" list very short. Love the blog Misty, the content AND the format.
ReplyDeleteThanks!! :)
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